


Andraste Would Disapprove

by adjectivebear (HealerAriel)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kink Meme, Smut, sex in inappropriate places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealerAriel/pseuds/adjectivebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is nervous about the impending Landsmeet. Cousland helps him relax in the most inappropriate way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Andraste Would Disapprove

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning to any more decent human beings than I out there: this work contains sex in a Chantry. Turn back now if you know this is something that will offend you.
> 
> Apart from a few minor changes in punctuation (and the fact that I have since learned that the Dragon Age equivalent of Hell is, in fact, called the Void), this is the same story I posted on the Kink Meme. 
> 
> Additionally, if any one of you kind souls will explain to me how one goes about formatting indents at the start of paragraphs, I'd be eternally grateful.

 

     

 

The eve of the Landsmeet found the reluctant suitor to the throne very tightly wound, indeed. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Much to the contrary, the better part of Alistair’s day had been spent utilizing each and every relaxation technique he’d ever learnt, and watching in horror as they fell utterly flat before him.

Exercising didn’t help because getting his blood pumping only got him more riled up. Taking deep breaths didn’t help, because it brought his attention to the fact that he was nervous enough to try it. Meditation didn’t help because, frankly, whenever he sat down and tried not to think he found himself thinking quite a bit more than usual.

He couldn’t even focus on how much better he’d feel once the Landsmeet was over, because when it was over he might bloody well be expected to run a country!

He’d been about to resign himself to following Oghren’s example and simply getting drunk beyond care when Mairead had come to his rescue with instructions to meet her in the estate’s chapel at midnight and a solemn vow that any talk between them of Blight or succession would be strictly forbidden for the remainder of the night.

Alistair was none too sure why she’d suggested the chapel of all places, having never seemed to have any particular interest in religion, but he was grateful for the promise of distraction and, well, what his lady wanted his lady would get, even if what she wanted was to sit in a chapel all night.

There proved a slight hitch in the plan, as Alistair had never actually had occasion to set foot in the chapel before, and spent a good fifteen minutes searching for the damned thing before he finally gave up and asked directions from an amused but sympathetic guard. But as he slipped into the chapel and set eyes upon his beloved, he couldn’t help thinking that he’d have gladly gone through far more trouble. Mairead smiled up at him from where she sat in front of the pulpit, and if she’d marked his lateness, she didn’t let on.

“What do you think?” she asked hopefully, gesturing around at her handiwork with the pride of a child who’d just learned her letters, for that was precisely how she felt at the moment. Mairead herself had never been much inclined to romance—her teenaged penchant for hasty, half-clothed fucks in the stables having actually had hilariously little to do with Fergus’ overprotective tendencies—but for sweet, hopelessly romantic Alistair she’d resolved to give it a shot, and the results weren’t half bad if she did say so herself.

The chapel was alight with hundreds of candles, bathing everything in a warm, rosy glow and coaxing an ethereal shimmer out of every polished surface. Rather than spend the evening sitting on cold flagstones, she’d lain out a pair of bedrolls and piled them high with as many blankets and pillows as she expected she could reasonably pilfer from the linen closet without anyone growing the wiser. She’d even charmed the kitchen staff into providing a tray of various sweet, buttery pastries to go with the bottle of Orlesian wine which sat, decanting, at her side.

During the good half hour it had taken to choose between the comfortable linen frock she usually wore when she wasn’t fighting Darkspawn and a low-cut, embroidered silk and lace number Leliana had produced from Maker-knows-where, it had occurred to the practical, leader-y voice in Mairead’s head that this might be an unreasonable amount of effort to put into impressing a man who already loved her madly, and under normal circumstances she’d have listened to that voice. But with an encroaching Blight and a political fiasco coming up quickly on the horizon, the current circumstances proved to be decidedly abnormal, and she’d told the voice to kindly shut up.

And chose the sexy dress.

If she’d had any doubts about the merits of shirking practicality for a night, the smile that crept onto Alistair’s face would have erased them. Her heart did a little somersault; Maker, the man was adorable.

“You did all this for me? Really?”

“I thought you deserved something special,” she said, motioning for him to sit with her atop the island of blankets. “We may not get the chance again anytime soon, what with the B—what with That Which Shall Not Be Named,” she corrected, remembering their rule.

Her beloved settled down beside her and slid an arm around her waist. He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly, which never failed to melt her heart; a fact Alistair was certainly aware of, for he’d taken to using it to unfair advantage nearly as often as he did those damnable puppy dog eyes.

He sighed happily, burying his face in her neck and breathing in the familiar scent of her skin as she began pouring them two glasses of wine.

“Ali, you’re going to make me spill,” she chided when he gave up sniffing and started nuzzling. “And then I’ll be forever getting dirty looks from whichever laundress has to attempt to get red wine stains out of all these blankets.” Alistair gave her neck a defiant nip before relenting and letting her finish filling the glasses.

“Candlelight, wine... I never knew you had it in you, love.”

“I’m quite full of surprises, it turns out,” Mairead said with a grin, handing him a glass. “It’s good wine, even. Finest Orlais has to offer, so I hear.”

“Ah, finally went shopping with Leliana, did you?”

“Well it… wasn’t really so much shopping as it was joining our roguish friends in an entirely childish act of passive-aggressive vengeance against Eamon,” she said quickly, chasing the confession with a particularly long sip of wine and averting her eyes, though not quite fast enough to hide the amusement in them.

“An act of… Maker, what did you do to Eamon’s wine cellar?” Alistair asked helplessly, his mind immediately supplying images of smashed shelves, broken wine bottles and an angry Arl tossing his teammates out of the city on their arses.

“No, it’s not what you think,” she assured. “We didn’t destroy anything. We just filched a couple dozen bottles of the really good stuff. Well, Leli and Zev did; I only needed the one. I’m not quite sure what they’re going to do with all of it, but they’re resourceful sorts, I’m sure they’ll think of something.”

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to sort through this information. “And… what exactly prompted this—?”

“Childish act of passive-aggressive vengeance,” Mairead repeated helpfully. “And I’d have thought that would be obvious, you spending the better half of the day climbing up the walls about it.”

Alistair’s eyebrows furrowed. “You mean The Other Thing That Shan’t Be Named? But I thought you agreed with Eamon about that.”

“Oh, I do.” His puzzled expression prompted her to elaborate. “But my opinion about The Other Thing That Shan’t Be Named hardly changes the fact that it’s awful of him to expect you to be his dancing monkey after years of neglect just because you’ve suddenly become a useful political tool. And therefore all his expensive wine is now forfeit.”

Mairead gave him an uncertain look, as though waiting for him to be cross with her, and Alistair knew he probably ought to have been. Instead he found himself laughing, her bemused reaction only making him laugh harder.

“Would that every man were lucky enough to have so fiercely protective a lady at his side,” he said fondly, sweeping a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek. “One who brings sweets, no less,” he added, grabbing a pastry from the tray.

 

***

 

Perhaps an hour later the serving tray and the bottle lay empty, and the warm buzz of wine coursed pleasantly through the warriors’ veins as they shared kisses and stories of their lives before the Grey Wardens.

“We had a chapel just like this one at the castle,” Mairead was saying, having gotten up to study their surroundings more closely, Alistair following close at her heels like an adoring Mabari puppy. “Not that I ever spent much time there,” she continued, running her fingers lightly over the golden altar cloth, “but I always did wonder what a Chantry would look like at night, you know, without so many people around, so that you could actually pay attention to the little details. It’s… quite beautiful, actually.”

“Mmm,” Alistair agreed wordlessly, wrapping his arms around her from behind and resting his cheek against her hair, utterly content for what felt like the first time in ages as his lover sighed and leaned into his embrace.

However much being in, around, or anywhere remotely near a Chantry tended to give him flashbacks of mind-numbing boredom and cloistered sisters ever at the ready to scold him for being loud, rambunctious or otherwise misbehaved, he had to admit that being in an empty one was pleasant. Peaceful. He was almost beginning to understand why some people looked to it for comfort.

Mairead turned her head toward him and he bent to kiss her tenderly, lazily. She made an appreciative noise, bringing a hand up to run her fingers through his hair.

“Ali,” she said when they parted, turning in his arms to face him, “there’s… something else I’ve always wanted to do in a Chantry.”

“What’s that, love?” he asked, kissing her once more, this time pleasantly surprised when she parted her lips to caress his tongue with her own.

Soon followed by the regular kind of surprised when she grabbed his backside and ground her hips against his groin.

“Maker!” he gasped, pulling away.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Mairead giggled, pale blue eyes glittering with the same intent they’d held barely a month ago when she’d convinced him that it would be a good idea to lose his virginity in a prison cell.

Not that it had taken all that much convincing but, well, it was hardly his fault that he couldn’t think straight when she was standing there in her smallclothes.

“Mairead… we can’t do this,” he said desperately.

“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked casually, removing the sash about her waist with one smooth movement so that her gown hung loose, her hands holding it together at the bust.

“It’s… it’s indecent,” Alistair insisted, taking a step backward. She matched his movement.

“Indecent?” The silken fabric slipped off one smooth, white shoulder.

“A-and… inappropriate.”

Another shared step. She shrugged the gown off the other shoulder.

“And… and we r-really shouldn’t…”

“Yes. You’re probably right.”

She unclasped her hands. The gown slithered into a puddle on the floor, and she stood before him in naught but a pair of red lace knickers. His cock twitched.

_Oh, Maker…_

“It’s… it’s not right,” Alistair continued, attempting to take another step back and bumping into the altar, realizing belatedly that he’d only managed to move them in a circle.

“No. I suppose not,” Mairead replied, the hands slipping up his shirt belying her contemplative tone. She leaned in to nibble his earlobe.

“Wynne would disapprove,” he protested weakly, cursing himself for the hiss that escaped his lips as her fingers found his nipples.

“Oh, vehemently,” she agreed, teasing the little nubs mercilessly as her mouth moved to the spot on his neck that made his knees go weak. She suckled at it, and he whimpered.

“We really will get struck by lightning this time.”

“Hell of a lot quicker than succumbing to the taint, though,” she said, reaching down to cup his hardening cock.

And with that, what was left of Alistair’s resolve crumbled. He pulled her flush against him, kissing her hungrily as his hands roved over her bare back and the ample curves of her hips and buttocks. Mairead—the shameless minx—smiled victoriously against his lips and made such quick work of his clothes that he found himself leaning completely naked against the altar before he’d fully registered exactly what was going on.

“I do love it when you see things my way, darling,” she purred, tracing his collarbones with her tongue before lowering her head to lick and suckle at a nipple, being rewarded with a loud moan as she did so.

She smirked to herself as she moved to the other nipple after a moment, eliciting a gasp as she pinched it gently between her teeth and let her fingers take over on the one she’d abandoned. She’d been with men who weren’t nearly so sensitive; Alistair was much more fun. Depraved she may have been, but she felt so delightfully naughty teasing all those delicious little sounds out of her shy, blushing Chantry boy that she couldn’t be bothered to care.

She moved once more to that spot on his neck as she raked her fingernails down his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles beneath his skin jump at the light touch. She passed her hands over his torso again, this time with a firm, admiring caress that was more for her own benefit but coaxed a sigh out of him nonetheless.

She leaned up to kiss him once more, slipping her tongue between his lips as she slid a hand down over his beautifully wrought body to wrap firmly around his cock. He moaned into her mouth, kissing her harder as she stroked him.

She soon withdrew her hand, and Alistair whined. Mairead laughed.

“Patience, love,” she admonished, trailing wet kisses down his body until she was on her knees before him. The sharp lines of his hipbones distracted her briefly from her purpose, and she nipped at them. “Oh, Ali,” she breathed, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

He could venture no more articulate response than a startled “Oh!” as she wrapped her soft, hot mouth around his cock and began to suck, slipping wetly back and forth on his shaft.

His cheeks burned with the vulgarity of the act even as he groaned, threading his fingers in her hair and willing her not to stop. She pulled back to tease the slit with her tongue and he gripped the edge of the altar with all his might, fighting desperately not to come. Not yet. Not when it felt so good. Oh, Maker, _not yet_ …

“Alistair?” She pulled away, and he would forever deny the wholly unmanly whimper of disappointment he let out when she did. “Are you _praying_?”

His blush grew even hotter. “D-does it bother you?”

Mairead smiled that wicked smile and held his gaze as she slipped a hand down into her knickers, withdrawing it a second later to show him a pair of very wet fingers.

“Hardly.”

Deciding that ordering him to lick her fingers clean might be too much too soon for her sweet Templar—who already looked dangerously close to blushing himself to death, were such a thing possible—Mairead resumed her attentions to his cock, being rewarded with a loud “Ah!” when she took him in her mouth once more.

Now, though, she aided herself with a hand, stroking the shaft firmly while her mouth tended to the tip. She alternated between sucking and teasing with her tongue, encouraged all the while by Alistair’s breathless cries of pleasure.

He became more vocal still when she put her free hand to use, cupping his sac and massaging it gently.

“Oh Maker, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” he begged, winding his fingers in her hair again and gripping it almost painfully.

Taking his frantic pleas as an indication that he was close, Mairead increased her efforts, pumping her hand as quickly as she could. One last hard suck had him yelling out, his head thrown back as he spilled into her mouth.

She swallowed reflexively and continued her attentions, softer now, mouthing the sensitive flesh languidly as he gasped and shuddered above her. Only when he’d softened, his ragged breathing calmed, did she stop. The deed completed to her satisfaction, Mairead rose to her feet once again, smiling at the dazed expression on Alistair’s face.

She’d been preparing something cheeky to say about Chantry boys and sinful behavior, but she hadn’t the chance to deliver it before he crushed her to him, kissing her soundly. Just as well, really; it hadn’t been a terribly clever quip. She mewled happily, giving herself over to his embrace as he plundered her mouth.

Alistair could taste the salty bitterness of his own release lingering on her tongue. While he supposed it would have been more decent to be put off by such a thing, he found that it only spurred him on, a vivid reminder of the pleasure she’d just given him. He’d been wrong, it wasn’t vulgar; surely nothing vulgar could feel so wonderful. No, what she’d done for him had been an expression of love, just like any other.

And surely, he thought with a blush, surely a gentleman ought to return the favor.

He shifted so that their positions were reversed, his lips never leaving hers as his hands began playing over her body, over that warm, pliant flesh that was so much softer than his own. His hands found her breasts and he couldn’t resist giving them a gentle squeeze—the novelty of them not yet worn off, which she’d once told him with a laugh that it likely never would be—before he turned his attention to their peaks, swallowing her appreciative purr as he pinched and rolled them.

He continued his ministrations to her breasts as he trailed kisses along her jawline, her ears, her neck, and her collarbones, drawing pleasurable sounds from her all the while, her own hands running along his back and shoulders as he tended to her. He slid one hand down to rest in the small of her back, and though she made a noise of protest, it was quickly cut short when he lowered his head to draw the abandoned nipple into his mouth.

“Oh, Ali,” she sighed, arching her back as he licked and suckled, her fingers raking through his hair, trying to keep him where she wanted him. He obeyed her wishes for a moment before moving to lavish the same attention on the other nipple. His hand, now free, tickled down her stomach to settle between her thighs, petting her teasingly through the lace.

Something devilish took over inside him at the impatient whimper that escaped her lips as she ground against his hand, seeking more contact than he was giving her. He laughed against her breast and she pulled at his hair, scolding him wordlessly. He nipped playfully at the bud between his lips.

“Apologies, my lady,” said a voice he didn’t quite recognize as his own as he slipped his fingers slowly, teasingly between the lace and her skin, drawing a finger up the length of her slippery cleft—she gasped—before circling over the little nub that was the seat of her pleasure. “Was this what you wanted?”

“ _Mmm_!” Right, he’d be taking that as a ‘yes.’

He toyed with her a big longer, but withdrew his hand before she found completion, to the accompaniment of an unhappy noise. She gave him a confused look as he lifted her to sit upon the edge of the altar, but complied as he pushed her gently onto her back.

He pressed soft kissed over her breasts and stomach as he worked his way downwards. Darting his tongue into her navel made her yelp and squirm, so he did it a few more times while his fingers found the waistband of her knickers and slid them off.

Emboldened by wine, lust, and the uncertainty tomorrow would bring, he pushed her thighs apart and pressed a kiss to her most intimate part.

Mairead swore loudly as he lapped tentatively at her sex, too surprised by his sudden brazenness to do anything but reach down and part her folds to allow him easier access. His tongue teased at her clitoris—Maker bless him, he was a quick study—and she gripped his head with her free hand.

Her intention had been to have a means of keeping him where she needed him, but she found herself needing to steer him back on course far less often than she’d expected. In a shining display of exactly the sort of dedication to skill mastery that made sex with Alistair so enjoyable, he seemed to be taking his cues from her responses, taking note of the things that made her breath catch and her legs tremble, and composing a strategy out of them.

She moaned and writhed as he added one of his hands to the fray, fingers delving deep inside her, plunging slickly in and again in a counterpoint to the sweet torment of his tongue. She thrashed about on the altar, panting and swearing and digging her fingers into his scalp, urging him onwards, begging him to go harder, faster.

A curling of his fingers, a particularly hard stroke of his tongue and orgasm took her by surprise, a startled cry erupting from her lips as the tiny organ between her folds fluttered madly against his. He continued to lick at her, attempting to match her earlier actions on him, but she pushed him away gently.

He gave her a questioning look, wondering if he’d done something wrong. She smiled and stroked his cheek softly.

“I’m a little too sensitive for any more right now, love, that’s all,” she explained. When she trusted her legs again, she slid off the altar, wondering vaguely whether the wet spot on the cloth would be dry enough to go unnoticed come morning.

Alistair gathered her into his arms for another long, lingering kiss.

Or, it _would_ have been one, were it not for the fact that the moment their bodies flushed Mairead found an erection pressing insistently against her. She pulled back and stared down at it, not quite believing her eyes.

“Again? Seriously?”

“Ah, well…” he said, scratching his head and looking slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing,” she assured, grinning. “In fact, I think I may be the luckiest girl in the world. Come along, darling; let’s see if we can’t put it to good use.”

She made to get back onto the altar, but he shook his head, grasping her hand and leading her back to the makeshift bed in front of the pulpit. They fell, giggling, onto the pile of blankets, grappling playfully for dominance until Alistair pinned her beneath his larger body, crowing victoriously.

“I _let_ you win,” Mairead informed, nipping at his nose. He laughed and nuzzled her.

“Oh, did you?” he teased, helping her shift one of her legs over his shoulder before positioning himself at her entrance. “You do that quite a lot; you must like it when I win.” He slid into her with one smooth movement, and both sighed contentedly at the intimate contact.

They moved together, slowly at first, and gradually increasing to a moderate pace. Long, deep strokes had Mairead purring, certain there could be no greater feeling in the world…

Until the angle of his hips shifted ever so slightly, his next thrust grazing something deep within her that made her eyes cross and sent tingles shooting through her groin. She saw Alistair smirking above her, and knew she must have made a very amusing sound indeed.

“You…how… what did you—?”

“Really, my dear,” he said, rocking his hips tauntingly, sending another wave of pleasure over her, “did you think that I covered my ears and recited the Chant of Light when the other Wardens started talking about women?” He rocked his hips again and she whimpered, grinding wantonly against him in the hopes of prolonging that wonderful sensation. “Just because I couldn’t contribute doesn’t mean I failed to take notes.”

“The other Wardens…?” Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. She smacked his arm. “You _bastard_! You’ve known how to do that this whole time? And you’ve been, what, holding out for a special occasion?”

He chuckled and captured her lips again. “Not at all, my love; I’d only just now remembered about it.” Mercifully finished with his teasing, he resumed a steady rhythm inside her, maintaining his angle so as to hit that special spot with each thrust. She mewled loudly, gripping his shoulders. “Can you ever forgive my forgetfulness?”

“Y-yes,” she panted. “Oh—oh, Maker, _harder_ …”

Much to her surprise, he obeyed, casting aside any thought of gentleness and thrusting into her with wild abandon. The coiling pleasure in her belly mounted with every stroke, growing and tightening into a delicious ache that cancelled out her sense of anything else but the overwhelming need for more, more, more.

She came blindingly hard, her fingernails digging into Alistair’s flesh as her muscles clenched around him, sending him following right after her, spilling his seed with a cry that echoed through the chapel.

Mairead slid her leg down off his shoulder and let him collapse bonelessly on top of her. She wrapped him up in her arms and held him tight, pressing soft kisses from his temple down to his shoulder as she waited patiently for his breathing to return to normal. He melted into the embrace. It was what she always did after they made love, and for some silly reason it never failed to make him feel, if only for a moment, that all was right in the world.

“Oh, Ali, what got _into_ you? And how do we keep it there?”

The decidedly lascivious tone of her voice had Alistair suddenly feeling shy again, and he buried his face in her neck, blushing furiously. Mairead giggled, her fingers combing soothingly through his sweaty hair.

“Oh no, it’s far too late to play bashful now, you sexy beast,” she informed. “I’ll be expecting a repeat performance at least once a day for the rest of our lives.”

“At _least_ once? Heavens, woman, is there no end to your lustfulness?” he asked, attempting to affect a reproachful tone even as his heart sang for joy.

_The rest of their lives_. Yes. They would be together forever and always, and nothing, nor Blight, nor politics, nor threats yet unknown could do a thing to change that.

Purely and unabashedly happy, he rolled onto his back beside Mairead. A comfortable silence fell over them, and for a long while they simply lay there, hand in hand, staring up at the ceiling.

Andraste’s likeness, the central figure in the mural overhead, stared right back at them.

“Mairead?”

“Mmm?”

“We’re, er, headed straight for the Void, aren’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely. There’s really no hope for us at this point.”

“Right, just making sure.”


End file.
